


Picking Petals

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Spoilers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “It’s a curse specific to the god of destruction,” Zeke said, leaning forward in his chair, “and, if you’re not careful, it will kill you before your thirteen years are up.”Armin felt like he couldn’t breathe—whether it was from the shock of having even less time to live than he previously thought or from the cluster of flowers clogging up his throat, he didn’t know. He rubbed his neck absentmindedly, as if he could force the blockage out eventually. Maybe if he just took his hands and squeezed...--Of all the misfortunes that came with being the current inheritor of the Colossus Titan, Armin hadn't expected coughing up rose petals to be one of them.*most likely will never be finished*
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. Petals from a Rose

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS WORK WILL LIKELY NEVER BE FINISHED AS I HAVE LEFT THE AOT FANDOM**  
> the story title and chapter titles are all inspired by and taken from the song “Petals from a Rose” by yetep. Check it out :)  
> Please forgive me if I got any post-timeskip details wrong… I haven’t read through all those chapters in a while! Please feel free to correct me too haha just don’t be too mean u_u  
> also yes i'm using hazel-eyed armin and silver-eyed eren! i love both the anime and manga eye colors, don't get me wrong, but in terms of symbolism for this fic i thought their manga eye colors would work better :)

“It’s a curse specific to the god of destruction,” Zeke said, leaning forward in his chair, “and, if you’re not careful, it will kill you before your thirteen years are up.”

Armin felt like he couldn’t breathe—whether it was from the shock of having even less time to live than he previously thought or from the cluster of flowers clogging up his throat, he didn’t know. He rubbed his neck absentmindedly, as if he could force the blockage out eventually. Maybe if he just took his hands and squeezed...

He thought that he had gotten used to the distinct feeling of having to gasp for breath, of choking up soft petals and stiff stalks and prickly leaves. Still, though, there was nothing quite like the breathlessness that followed a life-changing revelation.

“Why the hell would this only affect the wielders of the Colossus?” Hanji asked, their eyebrows narrowed menacingly at the blond Marleyan. They slammed their fist onto the table in front of them, anger radiating in the stiff line of their shoulders. “The curse of Ymir… we know that one. That makes sense. But why is this...whatever it is...specific to the Colossus?”

“It’s called the curse of Freyja.” Zeke scratched his beard casually, as if he were just talking about the weather. “It’s a story only passed down by the royal bloodline, and, quite honestly, I don’t even know if it’s true—well, aside from the rose petal part.”

“Please tell it to us,” Armin finally spoke up, forcing his tone to remain neutral. “I think… I think I deserve to know.” 

Zeke sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. “It starts with the one of the first inheritors of the Colossus,” he said. “After the Founding Titan power was split into nine, one of the known inheritors of the Colossus Titan was a woman named Freyja. She was an effective wielder, but easily swayed by the notions of her heart.” 

Zeke’s grey eyes reminded Armin so much of Eren’s. “Again, like I said, this is an old legend. But she was supposedly in love with another titan shifter. Some accounts say that it was the Warhammer, others say it was the Attack, and still others say it was the Armored. What matters is that she fell for another inheritor.”

Armin’s heart clenched so hard that he thought that whatever was taking root in his chest was trying to claw its way out.

“Why is that important?” Hanji cut in, their natural curiosity starting to bleed into their concern for their blond protégé. “Was it forbidden for titan shifters to marry?”

“Essentially, yes,” Zeke replied, a small smirk playing on his lips. “They never wanted families to combine… that would be far too much power for the one family to hold. Besides, most families didn’t want to combine their titan powers, anyway. So her love was doomed from the start.” 

After taking a sip from his cup of water, Zeke continued. “As the story goes, in order to silence her urge to confess her feelings to him, she would go into her family’s garden and eat white roses daily to stifle her heart.”

Hanji and Armin wore matching incredulous expressions.

“At first, she’d pick off the petals one by one and eat them, but as her feelings grew stronger, she began to eat the entire heads of the flowers in one gulp.” Zeke paused to chuckle. “It’s such a weird story, honestly, so take it as you will.”

“Go on,” Armin urged him. “Please.”

Zeke hummed before continuing. “Well, one day, Freyja heard that the man she loved was getting married. He had to produce an heir soon, lest he die without passing on his powers to his child. She resolved to tell him her feelings then, so she ran from her house to find him. As she approached his house, she looked into the window to see if he was home, and he was. But he wasn’t alone; his intended bride was with him, and the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know.”

The look in his eyes… Armin wasn’t sure how to feel about hearing that phrase again in such a context.

“She ran back to her house and tried to kill herself. No matter what she tried, though, she healed too quickly for it to work...even though her will to live was essentially gone, she still had a good nine years left before Ymir’s curse was supposed to destroy her. Finally, she went out to the garden and stuffed entire stalks of roses, thorns and all, down her throat.”

Armin gulped and rubbed at his throat again, feeling the familiar prickle once again welling up.

“Even though her throat kept healing, the thorns were kept in place because the skin kept growing over the wounds,” Zeke explained, tapping his leg idly. “It was a slow death, but, eventually, she died. Her family lost control of the Colossus Titan, and all inheritors of the Colossus had this springtime curse. Supposedly, roses were supposed to grow in their lungs whenever they felt too much love for another person.”

Zeke leaned back in his chair, and silence reigned in the room for several long, torturous moments.

So the god of destruction had a major weakness. Armin supposed that it was fitting that such a god would be bested by flowers, roses, springtime, the embodiments of life and hope. It seemed only right, in a sick and morbid sort of way.

“But I don’t remember Bertolt having it,” the shortest of the three said, voice slightly wavering. 

“Well, he might’ve had it, might’ve not.” Zeke pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “This curse is kept a secret from even the Marleyan government, as far as I know, because no previous Colossus inheritors ever reported the symptoms...though they could’ve been hiding them. I thought it was just a stupid legend, honestly, until you two asked me about it.”

As if prompted by the earlier utterance of his name, a rush of Bertolt’s memories came flooding into Armin’s head: shortness of breath at the sight of a certain blonde, stifled coughs at the backs of the barracks, stalks and withered petals tossed hastily onto the floor.

“How… do you know how I can get rid of it?” Armin ventured to ask, the blood rushing through his head threatening to make him lose consciousness. He hadn’t thought there could be worse things than finding out that he only had thirteen years left to live, that he was chosen over Commander Erwin, that the world outside the walls was not like the world described in his books. But, still, the universe continued to wear him down. 

How long could he persist?

Zeke shrugged. “No idea.”

Hanji sprung to their feet. “I think you just need to tell the person you love your feelings,” they pronounced, not quite confident in their answer but sounding as if this was their best solution. “If Freyja killed herself because she never told the man she loved her feelings, then I think you can bypass that if you just do what she never got to do.”

A flash of coarse, dark brown hair and startlingly passionate silver eyes appeared in Armin’s mind. His cheeks flushed, and he bit his lip, looking down at his lap. 

They were in the middle of diplomatic discussions with the entire world. Eren was in over his head with all of his father’s memories and all of the worries that came with their potential enemies across the oceans. Armin had noticed Eren growing more reserved, spending less time with everyone, and the thought of all the times that the other boy had brushed him off spurred on a new coughing fit.

The small collection of white rose petals, stained slightly with blood, fluttered delicately into his open palms as if to taunt him.


	2. On a Mission of Self-Destruction

Armin felt the scratching deep in his chest for the first time when he had woken up after thinking he’d never wake up again.

When his consciousness began to trickle into a more acute awareness, he was shirtless but warm from someone else’s cropped jacket (Eren’s, most likely, from the way the shoulders were too broad to fit properly) and extremely confused and flustered. His head hurt, his chest ached, and he was alone on the top of the wall next to Sasha, who was lying unconscious beside him. 

Looking up at the call of his name, Armin was shocked to see Eren running toward him with tears brimming in his eyes.

“Welcome back.” The tenderness in Eren’s voice, the choking gasp at the edges of the words, filled Armin with an overwhelmingly pleasant emotion that he could put no words to.

As Eren’s strong, sturdy arms encased him, Armin still felt bewildered, but leaned into the warmth, moving his hand upward to embrace his trembling friend back. He felt the strange pressure in his chest, alongside his own affection and love for Eren—a pulsing comfort that had settled in his heart years ago when Eren had first asked him what his name was. 

Armin just wanted to enjoy the safety and security that Eren’s arms provided him, even if he didn’t really know what warranted such an enthusiastic greeting. Safety and security were hard to come by; perhaps he had never truly had it, even before the walls fell and titans devoured half of his graduating class.

The horror that crept up from his stomach into his throat after hearing of his fate distracted him from the feeling of something foreign, unknown, making its home in his lungs. He couldn’t understand why he had been chosen to live, why he had been chosen instead of the commander, and the destructive feelings of inadequacy and self-hatred threatened to swallow him whole. 

He looked over at Eren and Mikasa, who, though they looked chastised, were entirely unregretful. His heart fluttered briefly and tucked away the knowledge that they would forsake humanity’s hope for him. It was a selfish bit of knowledge, of course, but he reveled in their love for him.

If the entire world was going to look at him and think that he should’ve died, he would have to continue to live for their sake.

Though he could no longer remember the charring heat that had nearly—should’ve—killed him, he thought that he could taste the ash in the back of his throat, the bitter chalkiness of knowing that his life was no longer his own. He didn’t, couldn’t have, paid any attention to the newfound heaviness in each breath he took; he figured it was just the weight of having the entire world placed unceremoniously on his shoulders when he hadn’t even expected to live. 

How could he have known that plants flourish in volcanic soil?

\--

When Armin had tried to show Eren the seashell at the beach, besides realizing that the effects of Grisha’s memories on Eren were irreversible—his depression, his withdrawal, the occasionally cold, far-off look in his eyes—he felt the gnawing in his lungs intensify. 

When he had first breathed in the salty ocean air, there had been a lightness in his body, like he was about ready to float above the waters, watching their glimmer from above; after Eren’s words, though, he could only think that the salt was burning, corroding its way through his flesh. He had coughed a little, feeling something wanting to escape his throat, but he swallowed it down. 

He wanted nothing more than to share his happiness with Eren. Was there anything he could do to replace Eren’s pained look with a smile, the same soft, rapt smiles they used to share when dreaming about the world together? Was there anything he could do to take the frigid despair in Eren’s eyes away? 

Though all the sun’s rays had been shining down on him, he missed Eren’s warmth.

\--

Before going to Zeke together, Armin had confided in Commander Hanji. 

For weeks he had been coughing up white rose petals; though they didn’t come everyday, it was often and strange enough for him to worry. The first time a singular white petal had come floating out of his mouth, Armin had wracked his brain trying to figure out when he had accidentally eaten roses. The new cuisine brought over by Marley might have had roses… 

But when the petals continued to come, even when he was certain he had never eaten any, and coughing fits were spurred on, more often than not, after brief conversations with Eren—he knew he had to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Commander Hanji,” Armin ventured one day after they were finished examining the layout and build of the Marleyan ship he and Eren had just taken over a day prior. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course!” they replied, patting the side of the boat fondly. “What do you need?”

Armin glanced nervously around the area, ensuring that nobody was within earshot of their conversation. He didn’t think that what he was going to ask was exceedingly strange, especially given the eccentricities of the Commander, but he would rather not have other soldiers think he was weak or unfit to hold his position; he already dealt with it enough on his own.

“Have you ever heard of someone coughing up flower petals when they haven’t eaten any?” 

He didn’t mention the searing agony that burst through his chest whenever he coughed. 

Hanji furrowed their brows together and tapped their chin. “No, never. That sounds more like a fairytale. Why? Are you coughing up petals?” Instead of looking mocking or disbelieving, they simply looked curious.

Rather than give a verbal answer, Armin offered them a small jar filled with the petals he had been hacking from his lungs. Most were a pure white, marred only by the tiny splotches on rusty red blood from his dry throat.

The Commander took the jar from his hands and examined the petals, taking them out of the container and rubbing the specimens between their fingers. “Maybe it’s a titan shifter thing?” they suggested, squinting at the petals. “You didn’t cough up petals before you inherited the Colossus, did you?”

“I did not,” Armin said. 

Hanji pocketed the jar, their face gravely serious. “I think we’re going to have to ask Zeke about this,” they said, not looking entirely pleased with the situation. “Marley has more knowledge about the shifters than we’ve ever had, so if it’s got something to do with that, then he’ll know.”

That was how Armin again learned that the day he was revived was the day he had really begun to die.

\--

While walking down the hallway of headquarters, Armin startled at the weight of a hand on his shoulder, but relaxed—heart still beating a rapid tune and chest aching with the weight of his affection—at Eren’s concerned gaze.

“I heard that you haven’t been feeling well,” Eren said, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the side of Armin’s collar bone. “Mikasa told me that you’d been coughing a lot.”

Softening under the comforting weight of Eren’s hand and worry, Armin smiled, turning around to address his best friend. “It’s just a regular cough,” he said, taking Eren’s hand into his own. “It should go away soon.”

Both statements were lies, of course, but if Zeke hadn’t said anything about it to Eren, then Armin wasn’t going to bombard Eren with more distressing news. 

Eren’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

He couldn’t very well tell Eren the source of the disease, anyway; while he was still skeptical about its origins, getting into that discussion would inevitably lead him a little too close to confessing his romantic feelings...which was probably more than Eren could handle. Eren had been increasingly concerned about Historia lately, especially with the recent political developments, and their trip to Marley was coming up soon.

Eren had enough to handle. Armin could do this himself.

Armin squeezed Eren’s hands, heat creeping into his cheeks as he noticed the roughness of Eren’s skin. “Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough to worry about.”

The same dark, brooding look that had taken permanent residence on Eren’s face settled back in. “Yeah. Okay. If it gets worse, then let me know.” Eren extracted his hands from Armin’s grasp, turned around, and walked away back the way he came. 

Pain spreading across his lungs, Armin regretted his words immediately; perhaps he should’ve let Eren continue to worry about him, just a little bit longer, if it spared Eren the pain of worrying about the world. 

Eren’s footsteps were heavy behind him. 

Armin did his best to stifle his cough, cupping his hands over his mouth, but the sound of his sputtering and the handful of rose petals fluttering to the ground rang through the empty hallway. 

Eren’s footsteps paused. Armin hardly dared to breathe, the petals trapped in his palms tickling his lips.

The footsteps continued. Sighing, Armin brought his hands away from his face, letting the petals scatter across the floor. He stared down at them, fists clenched by his sides. The previously pristine white petals looked as if they had been dipped in a well of coppery ink, accusing him of his fragility from their positions on the floor below.

Slowly, painfully, reluctantly, Armin knelt down and began to clean up his mess. 

\--

The trip to Marley had, at first, seemed like a blessing in disguise, a paradise away from Paradis. 

The bustling streets were filled to the brim with eclectic wonders; the street vendors offered a variety of wares, all of which Armin wanted to examine and purchase and keep in his room forever.

“Three more, please,” Armin asked the vendor, handing over his money in exchange for the exciting ice cream that had Connie and Sasha in hysterics.

The delectable treat made Armin’s tastebud sing, the sugar and cream that had been a rarity behind the walls fluffy and cool against his tongue. After taking a few licks and gathering the two extra cones in his arms, he hurried to share them with Eren and Mikasa, but saw that Mikasa had already made her way to Eren. 

His throat panged, but he quickly ate more ice cream to soothe its ache. The two extra cones began to melt against his suit jacket.

Later that night, at the refugee encampment, Armin watched a smile return to Eren’s face as he enjoyed the alcohol and food the kind family had offered to them. Taking a sip of the hearty drink, heat pooled in his stomach, both from the liquor and the serene expression on his best friend’s face. 

He imagined the amber liquid cleansing the scrapes in his throat, keeping the roses budding in his lungs at bay.

Many more cups and swigs of alcohol later, he and Mikasa laughed and conversed freely with the folks in the refugee camp, exchanging pleasantries and heartfelt life stories, as Eren sat behind them, occasionally joining in. Connie, Sasha, and Jean were quite a deal rowdier than the three of them, reminding Armin of the times long ago they had spent as cadets.

Throughout the night, Eren’s calm smile never left his face.

Armin exchanged a look with Mikasa; her eyes said the same. Eren—their Eren—was back.

Eventually, head swimming with the sound of Sasha’s retching as a backdrop, Armin laid his head down next to Eren’s, feeling, for once, like there wasn’t a worry in the world that could ruin this night. Mikasa had already claimed the spot of his right, and her hand was laid over his shoulder. Armin reached out to do the same, but found that he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open anymore. 

As three, they slept, surrounded by the joy and love of people who had lost it at all but still had each other.

\--

After hearing the news that Eren had stayed behind in Marley and was entrusting everything to Zeke, Armin broke down. 

It wasn’t immediate. He didn’t fall to the ground, heaving and sobbing and wailing guesses about what could’ve made Eren abandon them. In fact, the outward reaction he displayed was far less than the chaos swirling within him and the cacophony buzzing outside him at their campsite, as Commander Hanji and Captain Levi swore and cursed themselves for having not kept Eren on stricter watch. 

What was immediate, though, was the blame. 

The trial had been an absolute disaster. The world was hellbent on playing God, condemning Paradis forever and always as an island of devils. 

Eren slipped out without him noticing. He had been too horrified, dread digging its talons firmly in the soft flesh of his heart, at the prospect of losing his physical home to the threat of warfare to pay any mind to the man who had served as the home of his heart for the better part of nine years.

Armin blamed himself. He was Eren’s best friend, and he loved Eren; he should’ve noticed, he should’ve known, that Eren wasn’t doing well, no matter what one night of drunken smiles might’ve said. He had seen the signs, but he brushed them aside. Everyone was stressed; everyone was worried for Paradis’s international standing, and the results of the conference only confirmed to them that they were the ultimate scapegoat for the world’s hatred. 

But Eren had shouldered more than everyone else had, hadn’t he? 

Armin bent over and coughed, choking, gasping, gagging, specks of blood littering the ground and salty tears pouring down his face. Mikasa snapped out of her own self-loathing and patted his back, concerned but not entirely paying attention to his plight.

Something long and thin was in his throat, blocking all air. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. Mikasa patted his back, unable to see his expression. He couldn’t speak.

Armin placed both of his hands on his throat and squeezed.

A white rose, its petals gleaming with fresh blood, stem and thorns dripping, landed in front of him, commanding the silence of everyone around him.

Distantly, Armin registered Mikasa grabbing him roughly and turning him over, a panicked question buzzing in the air around him. Vaguely, he saw Hanji whispering to Levi and Connie, Sasha, and Jean wearing matching looks of shock. 

Armin opened his mouth to speak, but only bloodied white petals came out. 


End file.
